Those five words nobody ever wants to hear about the world are being repeated several times. It's not our fault, though. There wasn't much we could do to avoid it. As much as they do, even America couldn't lie about this. Nobody could. Even if we could have protected ourselves from this never ending, and steadily evolving plague, we still couldn't have. Fear can do a lot of help for one, like keeping one alive. But fear keeps you alive, when you want to be dead. Plague brought this world to be f*cked up beyond all repair.


1. 0.0 Prologue

Yamani Sonja, age 14 (above) [it's actually Youroichi from Bleach]

School was out today. It was snowing, and you don't expect that type of weather in Georgia. My dark skin paralleled the color of the snow; chocolate on milk. Not sure about the whole situation we were in altogether. Everyone except for like five people in my neighborhood were sick. And you don't expect that from a neighborhood full of neat freaks with the best lawns in America and the best trimmed trees and bushes that you only wish you could see in magazines and Zillo articles on homes. This was Buckhead, the home of most of the rich people in Georgia that didn't want the loudness of Midtown. Plus Midtown was...different. Not that I judge. But, honestly, I'd rather not speak of what goes down during summer.

It was raining last night, and then apparently it snowed soon after, making the ground frozen solid. There was no way my mom was making it to her meeting. I doubt anyone could. Not unless you have cars to spare and you aren't afraid of falling in one of the many ditches of Georgia. The entire city was screaming get rekt m8. And the whole time, the idiots on the news dumb enough to drive in the city were like, Yeah, why the fuck not? And I'm here like, You fucking idiots. I stood up from the edge of my bed and put a shirt on over the bra I slept in last night. I was hot, okay? Mainly because my father turned the heat on to like 79° F. And I was burning up in the icy hell of a world. Or state. I don't know how much ground this storm covered. And who fucking cares?

 I switched out my shorts for some black and white Adidas joggers and put on a matching jacket. I walked over to the large glass door that led to our upper porch. I opened the door and walked out. It was just so white. It reflected the sunlight, blinding me as I breathed the crispy cold air of Buckhead. I looked over to my neighbor's house to see if they were out. Nope. I looked on the other side, and to my dismay nobody was out on that side either. I noticed a figure dressed in all black slipping and sliding down the road, like he was on a sled, but it was his ass. 

"Yah-mahn-eeeee!" the figure yelled, emphasizing each syllable in my name.

I knew that voice anywhere. Tanji.

Hey, I'm busy brooding, come back another time.

"Hey, Tanji! Why are you sliding down my driveway on your ass?" I yelled at my close friend who happened to be a boy, but was not exactly my boyfriend. 

"Nothin' much. Just seeing if my butt can freeze just by sliding down Habersham Way," he said sarcastically. "Now could you help me in?"

"Yeah, let's freeze our asses together," I sarcastically countered. "I'll help you."

I walked back in, closing the door, and walked to the silver elevator. I pressed the ground level button and waited until I reached the garage. I walked past the Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon and the Aston Martin DB9 and opened up the door to let my friend in. He grabbed on to the tire of my father's Audi R8 Spyder Limited Edition to attempt, extra emphasis on attempt, to stand up, only to fall face-first on the frozen over pavement. I step on my driveway, to help him up. I succeed and he questions me.

"I'm wearing my Tims," I say.

"You know, you're the only girl I know—"

"I know that."

He huffs, "Damn it, let me finish. You're the only girl I know who wears Timberlands every season of the year."

He still hasn't noticed. Three. Two. One. "Hey! You are not the only girl I know, you little!"

I just laugh and help him inside the mansion. I tell him to sit on the couch so I can fix his wounds. I come back with a bottle of alcohol (not the drinking type), cotton balls, gauze, and bandages. "NO!" he yells at the sight of the alcohol.

"Don't be such a wuss, now stay still unless you'd like a frosty death by hypothermia!"

"Fine, Yamari, only for you."

"Grow up, damn it." I continue to fix his wounds. He still cries like some five-year-old who's teddy just died in an imaginary car accident. Wuss.

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